


Westeros Academy

by butterfloofies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Family, Friendship, Friendship/Love, High School, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterfloofies/pseuds/butterfloofies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU of the Stark children and their adventures in Westeros Academy, a prestiged private school in Beverly Hills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A prologue to explain how the school works  
>  and I had to change the ages a little bit to fit them all into middle/high school, so yeah.. hope you like it! :D  
> p.s. if you ever catch any typos, it'd be much appreciated if you corrected me. thanks!

Westeros Academy was not like other schools. Oh no, Tyrion Lannister had made sure of that in his many years as dean. Of course, he had originally become dean after his father had persuaded the board of directors with a very generous donation, but that did not make him any less of an excellent dean. He was not beautiful like his sister Cersei, who had become the trophy wife of a Robert Baratheon, owner of a Fortune 500 compnay, nor was he strong and clever like his older brother Jaime, who had enlisted at West Point and gone on to become a general in the United States army; Tyrion was clever of another kind. He knew management, and he hoped to impress his father by turning WA into a top-notch school. However, this was all for a secret Tyrion had never admitted to anyone– he harbored a hope that one day his father might pass the family company onto the second Lannister son. But Tyrion wasn’t stupid; he knew his father resented him for being the cause of the death of Tywin Lannister’s beloved wife– that, and for being born a dwarf. Tywin would never admit to the second reason for fear of bad publicity, but Tyrion saw the disgusted glances his father threw at him. The only reason Tywin Lannister had agreed to give him the position of dean in the first place was to get him as far away from Lannister Co.’s headquarters in New York City as possible. And Westeros Academy, situated smack dab in the middle of Beverly Hills, Los Angeles, did just that.

Tyrion entered his office to review some papers in preparation for the beginning of the new school year. The student population had gone up by nearly 50 students– more students, more money, better teachers, more prestige. Tyrion grinned.

Westeros Academy had a total of 600 students spanning seventh to twelfth grade. In short, it was a private school for rich kids. Students who wished to enter had to a very difficult (Tyrion made sure of that) entrance exam; there were, of course, those parents who offered bribes when their children failed the test, but Tyrion would have none of that. The sum all the bribe money he’d been offered before could never measure up to the worth of Lannister Co., one of the world’s biggest investment banking companies. For students who did pass the exam, a tuition was still required, and of course, scholarships were offered to only a handful of truly exceptional children. Once accepted, however, there was still the threat of being expelled. Exams were administered again in ninth and eleventh grade for returning students, and those whose performances began to slip were given a warning, and if such behavior continued, expelled.

It was a good system, Tyrion believed, and he felt a little swell of pride at the rigor of his– yes, he dared to call it his– school. It wouldn’t take long for Westeros Academy to become the best in the nation.


	2. Bran

“Mom! Rickon won’t let go of my leg!” Bran shouted at the ceiling, while trying to peel his little brother off.

“It’s not fair! It’s not fair! Why can’t I go to your school?” Rickon wailed.

“Because you’re only in the third grade. You can join us after you graduate from elementary school,” Bran explained with a pitying look. Rickon was now the only Stark child who was not attending Westeros Academy.

“Come here, child,” Mr. Luwin, the family butler who had been with them even before Rob had been born, gently pulled little Rickon away. “You’ll join your brothers and sisters soon enough. How about today we ask Osha to make you your favorite peanut butter and jelly sandwich?” That brightened Rickon up quick enough. “And just for today, you can have a candy bar,” Mr. Luwin whispered with a wink, holding out a Snicker’s bar. Rickon snatched away the candy bar and ran off giggling to himself.

“Thanks, Mr. Luwin,” Bran grinned, finally turning back to his breakfast.

“Now where are all the other children?”

“Robb and Jon already left with Theon. You know how excited Theon was to _finally_ pass the driving test.”

Mr. Luwin made a face of displeasure at the thought of Robb and Jon’s lives put into Theon’s hands. “Arya and Sansa?”

“My guess is that Arya’s still asleep and Sansa’s doing her makeup,” Bran shrugged.

Mr. Luwin sighed. “Nan?” he called, “will you go tell the girls to come down to breakfast?” A little old lady, who really didn’t seem like she should be working anymore, began to make her slow ascent up the stairs toward the girls’ bedrooms. As she disappeared, another woman, tall and gangly with her hair up in a bun, entered the dining room with several packs of lunchbags.

“This one’s yours, Bran. Roast beef sandwich,” she said, handing him a bag. He was glad she’d stopped writing their names on the bags. He was in middle school now, and that was a little childish.

“Thanks, Osha,” Bran replied, stuffing the bag in his backpack.

“Ugh, I don’t want to go to school,” Arya slumped down the stairs and sunk deep into her seat.

“You’re in high school now, Arya. You’re too old for me to be reminding you to sit up straight,” their mother, Catelyn, sighed as she entered the room. The youngest Stark daughter made a face before pulling herself up and stuffing a piece of French toast into her mouth. “And chew!” her mother ordered.

“Fime,” Arya managed choke out before she began to widely open and close her mouth with deliberate force.

“And keep her mouth shut while you chew,” Catelyn took a small nibble of toast to give her daughter an example. Arya only made another face and ran off to the kitchens. “What am I going to do with her?”

“She’ll improve with time,” Mr. Luwin assured.

“I hope so– goodness, Sansa, isn’t that skirt too short for you?” Catelyn exclaimed as her elder daughter descended the stairs. Sansa had donned a slim-fitting blouse and a skirt that barely covered her butt.

“Yeah, Sansa, we all know you have a vagina. You don’t have to prove it,” Arya called from the kitchen. Sansa reddened at that.

“Arya!” Catelyn gasped. “That is not a girl should speak! And in front of your little brother too!” Bran had been openly grinning at his sister’s remark, but upon being brought into the conversation, he had to suppress his smile.

“You know what, Arya? Not all of us want to dress like hobos!” Sansa yelled back. Bran frowned; he liked Arya’s style of clothing a lot better. But maybe that was because she and Bran wore pretty much the same things– t-shirts and raggedy jeans. Smirking at her own retort, Sansa took a seat and began cutting up her toast into small pieces.  She then turned to her mother and said, “And don’t worry Mom, all the girls at school wear miniskirts.”

“Why’re you using a fork and knife for toast?” Bran asked, a little bothered. It was like when people used a fork and knife for pizza– it just wasn’t right.

“I don’t oil and syrup all over my hands,” Sansa replied, in that I’m-better-than-you tone she adopted so often these days.

“Thank God for that,” Catelyn muttered.

It didn’t take long for the children to finish breakfast– Bran had already started eating minutes before everyone else, Sansa didn’t eat much, and Arya only took a few minutes since she tended to stuff everything down her throat at once. They said goodbye to Rickon, who began wailing again that he wanted to go to school with his other siblings, and finally climbed into the car for the chauffeur Hodor to drive them to school. 


	3. Sansa

“There he is! There he is!” Sansa squealed, grabbing one of Bran’s sleeves and shaking it.

“Stop that!” Bran wrench free of his sister’s grasp. “Who is _he_ , anyway?”

“Oh God, Bran, why’d you have to ask that?” Arya groaned.

“He? He? _He_ is Joffrey Baratheon, ASB president, son of Robert Baratheon, owner of the company Dad works for, you know. He is the most gorgeous, handsome, popular, perfect guy at school. And this year, he is going to be my boyfriend,” Sansa said matter-of-factly, unaware of Bran’s giggling at Arya mimicking the Joffrey Baratheon speech. “But first, I need to become cheer captain. Ugh, I’m so nervous for tryouts.”

“Speaking of tryouts, aren’t your soccer ones soon?” Bran asked.

“In two days, actually,” she replied as their car pulled into the drop-off zone.

“Okay, I can’t be seen with you guys,” Sansa announced as she rushed out of the car. She knew at once where her friends would be; she headed toward an enclosed courtyard on the side of the main school building. Nicknamed the Red Keep for the red brick walls that surrounded it, the courtyard was where all the kids at the top of the food chain hung out.

“Jeyne! Myrcella!” Sansa called out, walking quickly– but not so quickly that she seemed desperate– toward her friends. Myrcella Baratheon, however, let out a squeal and rushed toward her friend, her pretty blonde curls bouncing after her, and gave Sansa big hug. Let Myrcella be the boisterous one, Sansa thought. She herself would much rather be known as the calm, collected one.

“Hey there, pretty thing, did you miss me?” a voice drawled at Sansa. She looked past her friend to find Theon Greyjoy smirking at her.

“Stop hitting on my sister,” her brother Robb suddenly appeared, giving Theon a smack on the shoulder.

“Hi Robb!” Sansa’s best friend, Jeyne Poole piped.

“I saw you once too often,” Sansa replied.

“Hi Jeyne,” Robb smiled. Sansa rolled her eyes affectionately when a blush began to creep over Jeyne’s face.

“You only saw me once– ohhh. Cute,” Theon grinned.

“I’m going to punch you,” Robb threatened.

“It’d be worth it,” Theon laughed as Robb pushed him away.

“Later, Sansa,” Robb called.

“Hey Sansa,” a voice said, a voice so beautiful it made her heart skip a beat before completely melting altogether.

Sansa whirled around, her eyes brightening at the sight of him. He was standing so close, only four feet away, and the way the sunlight shimmered off his hair, the way he just stood there all calm and confident with that adorable smirk on his face– it was all Sansa could do to not completely melt into a happy, little puddle. Instead, she gave him a composed, aloof “Hey Joff.”

 “How was your summer?”

“Oh, good, but a little tiring, you know. All the parties on top of a trip to Brazil. But fun.” Oh God, oh God, that sounded like she was trying too hard to impress him. “How was yours?” she added quickly.

“Eh, okay. Father keeps wanting to take me to his company to learn some management. He’s such a frustrating idiot sometimes,” Joffrey rolled his eyes.

“Mm hmm,” Sansa agreed blindly, too focused on his perfectly arranged hair. And that was really all that she focused on throughout the rest of the day until her cheer tryouts began.

Sansa took a deep, calming breath as she changed into a tank and running shorts. Becoming cheer captain as a sophomore was unheard of but possible, and Sansa truly believed that her experience and excellence on the cheer team last year would be a big point in her favor. Either way, she was Sansa Stark, calm, composed, capable of anything– the perfect daughter, the perfect girl. Last year she had managed straight A’s, cheer practice, and a social life. It had taken her less than a week to get accepted to the Red Keep. Even Myrcella, Joffrey’s sister– Joffrey who was now practically King of the Keep– had needed two weeks; Jeyne had to wait two months, and that was with Sansa talking her up.

Sansa knew she would one day be Queen of the Keep, arm in arm with her darling Joffrey. There was no way two equally beautiful, popular weren’t meant to be. With such thoughts, it wasn’t hard for Sansa to motivate herself to give the tryout her all.

“Good job as always, Sansa,” Coach Olenna nodded. Olenna Redwyne was old, fierce, and sarcastic– to other people, that was. She had a soft spot for Sansa, who always performed excellently. Sansa had been at the top of her game today, a thought that brought a grin to her face. She climbed to the top of bleachers to watch the rest of the tryouts, but no other performance could shake her confidence.

“You look happy,” Jeyne remarked, taking a seat. “Tryouts go well?”

“In the bag,” Sansa squealed, her excitement bubbling over now that everyone else had left.

“You think Joffrey’s going to ask you out then?”

“How can he resist? We’d be the power couple of this school, Jeyne. Just imagine, the halls would part of us, and everyone would know our names.”

“You love this fantasy way too much,” Jeyne chuckled.

“Oh, shut up. Don’t pretend you don’t want the same thing,” Sansa grinned.

“Yeah, except it’s Robb instead of Joff,” Jeyne sighed.


	4. Arya

“You’re fast.”

“Arya? Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” Bran asked, sitting down to join her under the shade of the tree.

“Eh,” she shrugged. “It’s history class, and Mrs. Merryweather thinks I’m still in the bathroom.”

“I don’t understand how you even get away with these things.”

“Because I’m sneaky. Quiet as a shadow, Bran, and no one will ever notice you.”

“But don’t you have to keep up your grades? Or else you’ll be expelled.”

“Oh Bran. Darling, naïve Bran,” Arya chuckled. “All I have to do is get straight B-‘s. They’re really easy to maintain, but not so low as to get me expelled. And so I get to wander around, instead of listening to those boring lessons.”

“Mom would kill you if she found out.”

“Mom won’t find out,” Arya stated, falling back onto the grass. The blades were starting to turn that golden, fall yellow, and she could feel the crunch of some leaves beneath her. Arya loved nothing more than to be outside, on the grass, in the leaves, with the trees. It was so much better than being stuck inside a small room.

The smell of the grass made her miss their family horse ranch. They had just been there this summer, but that was only for two weeks, and two weeks was nowhere near enough time. Arya rode exceptionally well; in fact, she had been riding exceptionally well all her life, ever since her father first placed her on a horse five years ago. She rode better than Bran, and much better than Sansa and Rickon, neither of whom could go faster than a trot. Robb and Jon, of course, were different stories. Arya loved racing her older brothers. When she had first learned to go at a gallop and insisted on racing, she had fallen behind so quickly her brothers completely forgot about her. With dedication and training, however, she soon grew to be a worthy contestant. She had only bested each of her brothers a handful of times, but she had received many a compliment from them and others about her skillful riding.

“C’mon, Bran, lay down,” Arya insisted, her mind returning to present day. “You know, Bran, I didn’t realize you were this fast a runner. I mean, I could never outrun you, but I didn’t think you were this good.”

“Well, I did finish the running warm-up first.”

“Yeah, with second place at least half a lap behind you.”

“I know,” Bran said, and Arya could hear the smile in his voice.

“Brandon Stark!” the PE teacher, Barriston Selmy, called. “You’re not done with class yet. And you, young lady, shouldn’t you be somewhere?”

Several excuses went through Arya’s head a split second, but she knew Mr. Selmy wasn’t as easily fooled as old Mrs. Merryweather. “Yes, sir,” she replied, donning a face of shame. “See you later, Bran.”

Later found them at Arya’s soccer tryouts.

“Nervous?” Bran asked.

“No, not really,” Arya replied. “Okay, a little. But that’s only because I want to make JV as a freshman.” She turned on him, desperation starting to fill her eyes. “Bran, I can’t play on the frosh team. It would drive me crazy. I know I can do better.”

“And you will,” Bran assured her and gave her a hug. It surprised Arya that he was actually taller than her now. “I’ll be rooting for you from the stands.”

Arya looked at the soccer field. She could smell the freshly-mown grass and the lingering scent of white paint; it gave her a little more confidence. She would do alright; after all, she’d been playing soccer ever since she could run, ever since her father first showed her a soccer ball and taught her all the different positions and his attack strategies. The adrenaline, the excitement, the sweat, the muddiness, the scrapes and injuries– it made her happier than any dress or necklace or eyeshadow kit could ever have. There weren’t enough fingers in the world to count how many times her mother had scolded her for getting her clothes so dirty. In fact, she didn’t think she owned any article of clothing that wasn’t ripped somewhere or had a grass stain.

Once in elementary school, Catelyn had managed to force Arya into a frilly, tight-at-the-waist dress. That was the same day all the boys in her class decided they wanted to play soccer. And there was no way Arya was going to say no to that, frilly dress or not. And so, when she arrived home in that dress, sleeves torn, zipper broken, green stains on the knee area, and grass everywhere, Catelyn blew up. Arya always knew that Catelyn liked Sansa’s ways better– neat, clean, mannered, never a spot of dirt or a hair out of place– but Arya didn’t care. She had too much fun. Sansa and her mother might frown, but Jon, Robb, Bran and sometimes Rickon would happily join her for a game. And back when they were younger and less experienced, it would be them versus their father. Now he just settled with being referee.

Arya looked at the field again and at all the girls gathering together for tryouts. All she had to do was close her eyes and imagine it was Jon, Robb and Bran playing, and she had to settle a score with them. It was easy after that.

 “You’re a very good player,” Sansa remarked after the tryouts.

“What’re you doing here? Aren’t you afraid to be seen with us?” Arya mocked in her best Sansa voice.

“I asked the same thing,” Bran whispered, chuckling.

“It’s socially acceptable to watch sports tryouts, you know. And besides, I can’t support my little sister?”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for coming. Now let’s go. I’m hungry.”

“I think you’ll make JV, Arya,” Bran offered.

“Thanks, Bran.”

“You want to make JV?” Sansa asked incredulously.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Nothing, just that I guess we’re both being a little ambitious this year, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Arya considered that for a moment. She and Sansa wanted different things, but they both wanted those things equally badly and were both willing to work for it.


	5. Jon

“Mashed potatoes!” Rickon squealed in delight as Osha set the dish before him. Without missing a beat, he picked up his spoon and reached for the potatoes.

“Rickon, sit down,” Catelyn scolded as she gently pulled her son back into his seat. “We need to wait for your father to come down.”

“What’s taking Daddy so long?” Rickon whined, staring longingly at the food on the table.

“He’s making a phone call.”

“With Robert Baratheon, isn’t he?” Robb interjected.

Catelyn stared at his a while, her expression blank before she replied, “Yes, and I suppose I might as well tell you so you can get all your screaming out now. Robert and his family are coming to dinner this weekend.”

Catelyn hadn’t even finished her sentence before Sansa let out the shrillest of screams. Many of the children joined Jon in clamping their hands over their ears. Arya looked at Jon and rolled her eyes, and Jon returned a smirk.

“Sansa, the neighbors are going to think we’re killing you or something,” Robb sighed when she finally stopped.

“Family? Family as in Joffrey? _Joffrey Baratheon_? In our house?” Sansa asked, eyes wide with terror. “No, no, no no nonononono!”

“I thought you’d be happy sweetling?” their father asked as he descended the stairs, still dressed in his business suit.

“If he meets you guys, I’ll never get a chance with him,” Sansa groaned, dropping her head into her hands.

“Just for you, I’ll try extra hard to make that happen,” Arya grinned, digging into her food the moment their father took his seat. Rickon followed her lead and pulled the plate of mashed potatoes onto his place mat. All the family began their meal; only Sansa remained still.

“Arya’ll ruin everything, Mom. Then Joffrey’ll never speak to me again, and I’ll be friendless for the rest of the year,” Sansa complained.

“Drama queen,” Arya muttered under his breath.

“Arya will be on her best behavior, won’t you Arya?” Catelyn asked. Arya responded by giving her a big smile, revealing the mixture of chewed up beef and potatoes in her mouth. “Arya! Please, darling. It’s not just Joffrey coming over. It’s your father’s boss and his wife, and their other two children. Behave, will you?”

Arya nodded, but Jon could see the defiance in her eyes, and it was only when Ned asked the same of her that the mischievousness left her grin. “Fine,” she said, making a show of picking up her knife to cut her meat. She picked up her napkin and did an imitation of Sansa dabbing her mouth. The boys snickered until Sansa looked over and gave a ferocious glare.

“Robb, I really want you to make a good impression on Robert,” Catelyn said. “If he likes you, he may readily offer you a job after you graduate from college.” The smile from Arya’s antics was completely wiped off Jon’s face. It wasn’t hard to pick up Catelyn’s underlying message in the way she only directed this hope toward her biological son, Robb. It really shouldn’t have stung so much; after all, Jon was used to this sort of treatment from Catelyn. But this was serious, this was the future, and she was still treating Jon the same way she had years ago.

His father gave him a quick glance and must have seen Jon look a little pained because he added, “You too, Jon. Best behavior.”

“Don’t worry, Dad. I don’t really want to go into business anyway,” Jon replied, staring his father square in the face, but he hoped Catelyn realized this message was being directed at her. Jon didn’t need her help; he didn’t need anything related to her. Anything he achieved, he wanted to achieve it in a way that Catelyn could never claim to have helped.  

Conversation fell silent; even Rickon could feel the tension, as he stopped shoving food down and glanced around at his family members.

“So, what time are they coming over?” Sansa asked in an effort to break the silence.

“Seven o’clock this Saturday,” Ned replied quickly, thankful to speak again.

…

“She still _hates_ me,” Jon spat, as he sunk on the couch in his room.

“She doesn’t hate you,” Arya replied, choosing to stare at his the-glaciers-are-melting! poster instead of him. “I really don’t understand why you have that poster.”

“Because the glaciers _are_ melting, and I really want to go to see them someday,” Jon sighed. “But that’s not the point.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but she just…”

“She just hates me because I remind her that her and Dad’s relationship once had its problems.”

“I can’t believe Dad would do something so scandalous,” Arya remarked, grinning. He was sure she was remembering how they had pieced the story together through many nights of eavesdropping and prying bits from Mr. Luwin.

“Yeah, me neither,” Jon replied, and he had to grin too. “But they _were_ broken up at that point, and he didn’t even know he had me, until my mom...”

“Do you remember her?”

“A little bit. I mean, I was five when she jumped, so it’s really just vague stuff. Like our old house and how big it was for just two people.”

“It’s yours now, you know.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want it. _This_ is home, Arya, no matter much Catelyn doesn’t want it to be for me.”

“Jon,” Arya sighed, sitting down next to her brother. “I really don’t think–“

“Well, I do,” Jon interrupted. “If Ned weren’t my only living relative left, and he hadn’t really insisted, there’s no way I’d be living here.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” Arya declared, throwing her arms around her brother.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” he responded, enveloping her in a bear hug before giving her a hair a tussle.

 “Let’s talk about something else then.”

“Okay, how were tryouts?”

“Good.”

“JV good?”

Arya grinned, “Varsity good. But don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Our secret,” Jon assured her.

It was conversations like this that made Jon realize that no matter hard Catelyn might try, the Starks were his family. Even though Jon had been nonexistent to the Starks during Ned and Catelyn’s marriage and Robb’s, Sansa’s and Arya’s births, it did not take long for Robb to regard him as a brother (but that was only after Ned decided to place Jon in the same grade as Robb). Sansa, however, still had a little guard up against Jon, but much less severe than her mother’s; Bran and Rickon had come into the world knowing no other picture than the one in which Jon was a true Stark. And Arya, sometimes Jon felt that Arya was more his sister than Robb’s or Bran’s or Rickon’s.

“Our secret,” Jon said again, his smile growing wider.


End file.
